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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



mi A Ro*E§ 



FRANK CHAFFEE 



DRAWINGS BY 

ROBERT HARTLEY PERDUE 




CLEVELAND 
M C M I V 






| LIBRARY of CONGRESS, 
Two Copies Hecdved 

OCT, 27 1904 

Copyrurm tntry 

| CUSS <*" XAC Nui 

copy bT^ 



Copyright 1904 by Jos. Leon Gobeille. 



One hundred seven copies privately printed 
by Jos. Leon Gobeille and numbered con- 
secutively. This is 

No 




Salute. 

Smoke. 

Smoke Rings. 

The Robber Song. 

Miss Wortherspoon's Portrait. 

Benedictine. 

The Black Tulip. 

The Fickle Rose. 

Teresita Mia. 

Bien Chaussee. 

Good Night. 




} 




SALUTE. 

Fillip keen to dreams you lend 
Smoke wreaths and Roses equal blend. 
Roses, tenderest flowers o' love, 
Smoke as vague as skies above. 

Thus it runs, Life's little day, 
Smoke and Roses mark the way. 
Smoke wreaths of our dear desires; 
Roses, Love's insatiate fires. 

Fading Roses, gone Love's light, 
Smoke wreaths vanished into night. 
Does it matter anyway 
Smoke wreaths or Roses, grave or gay? 




13 




SMOKE. 

A charming woman, 

A cigarette, 
Is anything better in life? 

And yet — 

Oh radiant woman, 

A tender kiss, 
Sure greater joy does not exist 

Than this. 

A sweet old pipe, 

Good strong tobac, 
Sans kiss — sans woman — 

Nothing lack. 




14 




SMOKE RINGS. 

Once on a time, there was a wedding on 
the shores of the Baltic. A wonderful, 
clear-headed amber-cavalier wedded a 
bride who was born of the sea foam, and 
her name was Meerschaum. They jour- 
neyed far away across land and sea, into 
a strange new country, and the new coun- 
try they liked so well that they made it 
their home. Their lines fell in very 
pleasant places, for a young College Man 
took such a fancy to them that he took 
them to live with him in his beautiful 
quarters at the great University. 

Here they had a fine little home of their 
own, built of embossed leather, and inside 
it was all perfumed velvet. For four 
years they were happy indeed, and all 
that time they were fed only upon an 
Arcadian mixture, which was a fare that 
they dearly loved. Then it came to pass 



is 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

at the end of the four years that the 
young College Man went out into the great 
world to seek his fortune, and he put 
aside all boyish things, and tried to forget 
many things 'twas best not to remember. 
But he had grown to love his meerschaum 
and amber friends, because they were so 
connected with all his moods and had 
shared all his thoughts, and really they 
knew more about him than did any one 
else, and so he said : "I will take you with 
me into the world, and you shall live with 
me and share my joys, and comfort me 
in my sorrows;" and they went forth to- 
gether and took up their abode in a great 
busy city. 

Here they were very contented for a 
time, until one summer day the College 
Man, who was now a Man of the World, 
went away to spend a Sunday by the sea, 
and there he met another man who had 
also gone down to look at the sea, and 
immediately they became great friends. 
And as time went on these two became 
more and more to each other, and friend- 
ship assumed a new meaning in their lives. 
By and by, the one-time College Man wanted 
to make unto his friend a gift — something 
that should personify his affection for him 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

— and he cast about in his mind for the 
most suitable article; and nothing seemed 
quite to realize his idea until he thought of 
his amber and meerschaum treasure, and 
he brought it and gave it to his friend, to 
whom it said silently, as a gift from man 
to man has a way of saying: 

"Dear fellow, I am sent to be with you 
always, to tell you of one who cares so 
much for you that he has sent me, his 
greatest comfort, to comfort you instead." 

And the friend understood all that, and 
much more which the amber and meer- 
schaum could not say, and he took the gift 
gladly, even as he had taken the giver into 
his heart. 

30| 3|C 3J€ SfC Sp 

And that, friend Carlos, is the true story 
of the pipe you gave me not so many 
moons ago. You little knew what you 
were doing. To you it is only a pipe — 
a dear pipe, 'tis true, and associated with 
many pleasant hours in your past — but 
had you known how the witchery of the 
amber and the subtle delicacy of the meer- 
schaum would prove a key to unlock for 
me all the pages of that past of yours, 
would you have given it to me just the 
same? 



17 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

You know, amber has strange, weird 
qualities, and in some countries it is worn 
to charm away witches and save the wearer 
from all manner of unpleasant complica- 
tions. When amber is wedded to meer- 
schaum in the form of a beautiful pipe, it 
proves a combination irresistible to most 
men. 

Our pipes have such opportunities of get- 
ting at our true selves — you see, when we 
are worried we light a pipe and sit down 
to think a way out of the trouble, and 
when something pleasant has come to us 
and our hearts are glad, again we light 
our pipe and puff great clouds of 
odorous smoke, through which the pleas- 
ant something looks thrice as pleasant. 
Our pipes are with us thus, in glad times 
and in sad, when we are foolish and when 
we are wise, when we are vicious and 
when we come back to our better selves and 
the smoke-rings roll up and circle com- 
fortingly and caressingly about us, or draw 
themselves away and float out from us in 
silent condemnation, and the amber and 
the meerschaum know all about it. 

And so you see, Carlos, it is a very 
dangerous thing to give your pipe to an- 
other man, unless, indeed, you are ready 



18 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

to trust that other with the entire truth 
about yourself. It is like giving him your 
journal to read, only you would never have 
been as honest with your journal as you 
have been with your pipe; for it is impos- 
sible to write down thoughts however per- 
sonal, without a sort of inner conscious- 
ness that they may be read by some one. 

A pipe is such a gossip, too — it so loves 
to "reminisce." I am smoking your pipe 
now as I write, and it is fairly chuckling as 
it thinks of some of the things it has told 
me about you, and laughing in its amber 
sleeve at the memory of others yet to be 
told. 

It has told me about those first days at 
the University when you were a freshman; 
and, oh ! Carlos, how very fresh you were, 
and how you went in for everything with 
such boyish vigor and animal spirits ! That 
was when all your illusions were still with 
you, and college life seemed the corridor 
down which you must pass to find at its 
end the open door of life — life, with op- 
portunity and success only waiting your 
coming. Ah, me! would that we were 
freshmen always, old chap, and that we 
might keep the illusions ! 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

Then the pipe goes on in its whisperings 
and tells me of that wild set into which you 
drifted, and in which, with your exuberant 
spirits and lax purse strings, you speedily 
became a leader — and then, oh! Carlos, it 
is telling me something now that we will 
not record; but you were not bad, only 
thoughtless — only foolish — and yet there is 
no limit to folly's harm. I wonder if 
tEe bad things a good man does are placed 
to his debit? Yes, I fear so, else the good 
deeds of the bad man would not count for 
his credit, and that would be indeed un- 
fair. 

You were always very good to fellows in 
hard luck, Carlos, the pipe tells me; and 
that is a good thing, for there is all too 
little of practical sympathy in the world. 
We are a selfish lot, and too intent on our 
own progress or pleasure, to step one side 
often to help one weaker or less fortunate. 

Dear me ! Here is a long story about 
your gambling. That was very stupid, old 
chap, for you never had fun enough to 
compensate, and it is always stupid to pay 
a high price to your fiddler unless the 
dancing be very good. The pipe had a 
hard time those days. How furiously you 
smoked while you wondered how you 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

would get the money to pay those debts so 
misnamed "debts of honor!" And then it 
was so humiliating to confess to your 
father and ask for the money! After all, 
perhaps the lesson was a good one, and 
you will not forget it. 

Then come some months with good rec- 
ords, hard work, and progress made — a 
clean and wholesome period when you 
stood squarely on your feet and looked 
the whole world in the face with honest 
eyes. 

What a silly time you had with that bull 
pup, Carlos ! The pipe has told me all 
about it. What inadequate results for all 
the trouble you took — what fictitious val- 
ues things assume in college days to be 
sure! 

And speaking of fictitious values, the 
pipe tells me a little tale of an affair of the 
heart that ran its little course and went 
upon the shelf of experience. What col- 
lege man but has this shelf well filled? 
For, to garble a well known epigram, "ex- 
perience is the name which a college man 
gives to his mistakes." Ah, me! but it 
was all very real to you for a time, was it 
not, my Carlos? And the pipe shared the 
excitement and unrest and lost some of its 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

color; that was all before you had learned 
the difference between loving and "being 
in love." Some one has said that "being 
in love" is like indigestion; with an active 
liver it is improbable. But to love — ah, 
me! that is a matter of ethics and meta- 
physics, magnetism and spirituality, and 
in comment even the pipe is silent. 

The pipe has much to say about your 
merry-hearted chum, whose genial sunny 
influence is still 'round about you, though 
years and a whole continent separate you — 
and just here the pipe and I stop to rever- 
ize a bit on the question of influence. So 
often an influence either good or bad is 
exerted unconsciously — we cannot come 
into intimate relations with any one with- 
out both influencing and being influenced; 
and that is an argument in favor of choos- 
ing our friends wisely. And that starts 
another thought as if any one ever chose 
his friends — why, it is as much a matter 
of ethics, magnetism, and all that, as is 
love; in fact, the love that lasts is only a 
superstructure with friendship for its base. 
It is all as subtle and intangible as the 
smoke rings, as clear as the amber, and 
should deepen and strengthen with time as 
the color deepens and beautifies the meer- 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

schaum — and further on this topic the pipe 
is silent. 

Do you remember how you went in for 
athletics, how madly enthusiastic you were 
on the subject, and how you were ready to 
offer up anything as a sacrifice to it! and 
when your father stepped in and said, 
"Pull up, young man, and get back to your 
studies," how brutal you thought the edict 
then, how wise you know it was, now? 

And the pipe chatters on about all the 
merry doings of college life and some of 
the wild ones, tells me of the many kindly 
things, you did, and of some — Oh, Carlos, 
we are sorry, you and I, for those others, 
and to regret is the first step toward re- 
trieving; and your pipe interpolates just 
here, that you never did a wrong thing 
without trying to do a right one to balance 
it, and that you never did a mean thing, 
any way. I am glad of that, for I can par- 
don a bit of manly wrong doing, but a 
mean act is unmanly and contemptible. 

I hear of midnight suppers, of fish din- 
ners at the beach, of practical jokes, of 
theatrical episodes, of a chorus girl affair, 
of suspension and penalties, of achieve- 
ment and reward. Well, Carlos, we fancy, 
the pipe and I, that these are all elements 



33 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

in one's education. One has got to live in 
the world; and without this education in 
the matter of mistakes, called experiences, 
we should be but badly equipped, and the 
soil that will grow a good lively crop of 
wild oats will, under changed tillage, gen- 
erally produce good wheat. 

Our meerschaum friend has a poetic 
streak, too, and tells me of boating parties 
down the bay in the moonlight, and flirta- 
tions with pretty maids, and of a sunrise 
game of football, and of strolls under the 
great trees on the campus in the twilight; 
and it grows pensive and almost sad as it 
whispers of the beauties of Class Day, of 
the planting of the class tree, of the ball, 
and then of the sorriest event of all col- 
lege life, the severing of the ties formed 
by affection, or perhaps only by associa- 
tion — the farewells to the friends, to the 
atmosphere, and, alas and alas ! to happy 
dependent, sheltered boyhood. The four 
years have gone, vanishing like the smoke- 
rings from the pipe, and yet leaving their 
mark for all time, as have the smoke- 
rings upon the meerschaum. 

And so you see, Carlos, it is a serious 
thing to give a friend your pipe, for it 
gives him your past, and it leaves with you 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

the necessity for justifying that past by 
creating a future; and remember, my 
friend, we are watching you and talking of 
you always, the pipe and I. 





THE ROBBER SONG. 

The sun is a Robber bold, 
And steals from the rolling sea; 
The sea doth for ransom hold 
The shore in its trembling lea. 

The gay bee rifles the flower, 
A bloom on vine or tree; 
The black bear watches the hour 
That he may rob the bee. 

They are Brigands every one, 

Sun and sea and all, 

But man is the wickedest 'neath the sun 

Ever since Adam's fall. 





MISS WORTHERSPOON'S POR- 
TRAIT. 

The portrait was painted by Fabrizi, 
when Miss Wortherspoon was not yet 
twenty. In the set in which the Worther- 
spoons moved, it was at that time almost 
a necessity to have one's portrait painted by 
Fabrizi, and old John Wortherspoon was 
not the man to allow himself or his fam- 
ily to be distanced in anything. Thus it 
came to pass that Fabrizi received an 
order to paint as fine a portrait as could 
possibly be painted, with the beautiful 
daughter of the house of Wortherspoon 
as its original. The result was not only 
an almost speaking likeness but an exqui- 
site work of art as well, for whatever one 
might think of the morals and manners of 
Fabrizi, his skill with the brush was unde- 
niable. Before the portrait was complete, 
in fact quite early in the process of its 
evolution, something had happened. It was 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

a happening not at all remarkable in itself, 
and not at all unusual in cases where a 
young girl with much heart and a passion 
for the artistic, is thrown in the company 
of a man with little soul and an artistic 
temperament. Miss Wortherspoon fell in 
love with Fabrizi, and that artistic person 
though but little touched in heart, was 
pleased with the knowledge, and had a 
full appreciation of the dramatic and com- 
mercial possibilities involved. He knew 
perfectly well that Wortherspoon pere 
would never consent to his daughter wed- 
ding an artist, even though he be the fash- 
ionable portrait painter of the year. Miss 
Wortherspoon knew even better the prob- 
abilities at the hands of her father; she 
therefore with a fine romantic disregard of 
filial considerations and practical demands, 
proposed that they dispense with the par- 
ental blessing, and depart without even 
asking it. Fabrizi being more level headed 
and having lived in the world somewhat 
longer, suggested that they wait awhile, 
then approach the father gradually and 
note the effect; while he greatly admired 
the millionaire's daughter he could not dis- 
associate her in his mind from the idea of 
a commercial investment. Thus Fabrizi 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

painted and as Miss Wortherspoon looked 
at him with her whole soul in her glorious 
eyes, and the flush of happiness in her 
cheeks, is it any wonder that the portrait 
was a triumph of art? The portrait fin- 
ished, Fabrizi accepted from Mr. Worther- 
spoon the very liberal check which had 
been the price placed upon his handiwork. 
It grated a trifle upon Miss Worther- 
spoon's sensibilities when she learned that 
her lover had taken money for immortaliz- 
ing her beauty; but Fabrizi explained that 
had he refused, it would have excited sus- 
picion. After the delivery of the portrait, 
the artist called frequently upon the lady, 
and all went smoothly enough until one 
day Mr. Wortherspoon came home from 
his office and found the pair cosily drinking 
tea in the back drawing room. The old 
banker had not been bred to the amenities 
of life, and he was sometimes a trifle 
brusque and immediate in dealing with 
conditions. On this occasion he looked at 
the artist with distinct surprise for a mo- 
ment, then said, "What's the matter, any- 
thing wrong with your check?" Fabrizi 
murmured something indistinctly, made a 
hasty adieu and left the house. Old Worth- 
erspoon turned to his daughter saying, 



39 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

"These confounded foreigners, give them an 
inch and they'll take a whole city block. I 
suppose this chap thinks he's on calling 
terms here, because I've paid him an absurd 
price for painting your portrait." 

Miss Wortherspoon — remember she was 
not yet twenty — burst into tears and left 
the room, going slowly up the great stairs 
to her own rooms. Her father looked 
after her in astonishment, then said em- 
phatically, "By gad ! I won't have any 
business of that kind going on." A little 
later Miss Wortherspoon plainly dressed 
and closely veiled left the house, she went 
directly to Fabrizi's studio, he received 
her almost coldly, told her it was impos- 
sible for them to think of marrying without 
her father's consent, that, evidently was 
unattainable, and therefore he could see 
nothing for them to do. Miss Worther- 
spoon listened to his cool calculating voice, 
and she seemed suddenly to see what man- 
ner of man this was to whom she thought 
she had given her heart. She answered 
him in a few words of quiet scorn and left 
him. She walked hurriedly home and 
straight into her father's library, where 
she calmly told him the whole story, con- 
cluding by saying, "Now I want you to 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

send him back that portrait and tell him 
never to let us see it or him again." 

The old gentleman protested that the 
fellow should not have his daughter's pic- 
ture. The lady insisted that he should, 
that it was his work, and she would 
neither destroy it, nor have it anywhere 
about, besides it was not her portrait, she 
should never look in the least like that 
again. She had her way and the next 
day Fabrizi received the portrait, com- 
panioned by a letter from Mr. Worther- 
spoon which caused him to think it desir- 
able to presently betake himself across the 
Atlantic to his London quarters. The one 
item to be placed to the credit of Fabrizi 
is that he never told anyone of the visit of 
Miss Wortherspoon to his studio. 

After Fabrizi's departure, Miss Worther- 
spoon blossomed from a charming girl into 
a beautiful woman. She was quiet, a little 
cynical in tone, a little haughty in man- 
ner, but withal very charming, and she 
made her father's house very popular 
with her faultless entertainments. Of 
course many suitors came her way, but 
the years went by and nearly ten had 
passed and she was still Miss Worther- 
spoon. 



31 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

In London, time had brought fame and 
money to Fabrizi, he had a great studio 
which was something of a show place and 
he still painted many portraits. 

One day one of his patrons brought a 
friend to the studio to see a portrait that 
was in progress. The friend was the 
Marquis of Lorington, a magnificent speci- 
men of the best kind of an Englishman. 
Lord Lorington looked about the studio 
while his friend was talking to the artist; 
presently he discovered a small canvas 
standing in a corner, which seemed to be 
the portrait of a beautiful girl. He picked 
it up, took it to the light, wiped the dust 
carefully from it and gazed long into the 
lovely eyes, then he turned to Fabrizi and 
said, "Is this a portrait?" The artist 
started a little when he saw the picture, 
then said, "Yes, it is a Miss Wortherspoon, 
of New York. I kept it as one of the 
best specimens of my work." 

"I will buy it," said Lord Lorington and 
when Fabrizi added the enormous price 
which his Lordship paid to him unto the 
original price of the portrait, he smiled a 
disagreeable little smile as he said, "Well 
she was not such a bad investment after 
all." 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

Lord Lorington was thirty-three, a 
bachelor and very rich, he had never been 
really in love, but very much desired to be, 
and now it would appear that he was fall- 
ing in love with a portrait. One day he 
sailed for New York and in his luggage 
very carefully wrapped was Miss Worther- 
spoon's portrait. 

Arrived in America, Lord Lorington 
made judicious inquiries and ere long was 
one afternoon taken by a friend to call 
upon Miss Wortherspoon. It must be 
remembered, that the Englishman did not 
know of the years that had elapsed be- 
tween the painting of the portrait and its 
coming into his possession. When he was 
ushered into the drawing room of the 
Wortherspoon mansion he expected to 
meet the fresh girlish original of the por- 
trait with the love light in the eyes. In- 
stead he was presented to a stately, grac- 
iously beautiful woman, unmistakably like 
the portrait, only it was the blossom not 
the bud, and in the woman's eyes was only 
a pleasant friendliness but nothing of the 
light of the portrait. 

Lord Lorington was at first inclined to 
regret the girl, but as he grew to know 
the woman he lost sight of all else, and 



33 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

presently what he had long desired came 
to pass, and he was very much in love. 
He was very honest and straightforward 
in his lovemaking, with a hearty genuine- 
ness that appealed very strongly to Miss 
Wortherspoon, so that when he finally put 
his love into words, and asked her to make 
him happy by becoming Lady Lorington, 
she was quite prepared and she said "yes" 
as genuinely and as happily as any lover 
could wish. As Lord Lorington stood gaz- 
ing at her with joy in his possession, she 
lifted her eyes to his suddenly, with a look 
that made him exclaim, "Oh, my darling, 
now you are like the portrait, this is what 
I have longed for." 

Miss Wortherspoon looked puzzled as 
she said "What portrait do you mean?" 
And he told her of the purchase from 
Fabrizi. Miss Wortherspoon was silent for 
some moments then she said, "I must tell 
you the story of that portrait," and she did 
so. When she had finished, Lord Loring- 
ton said, "The man is a cad, of course, but 
we must keep the portrait, for without it 
I might never have found you" — and he put 
his arms around her and gave her a good 
American kiss. 



34 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

Somewhere in the London house of the 
Marquis of Lorington there is a portrait 
by the famous Fabrizi. It is of a young 
girl, somewhat resembling Lady Loring- 
ton, though incomparably less beautiful. 
It is generally supposed to be a young rela- 
tive of her Ladyship, though Lord Loring- 
ton when interrogated only laughs and 
says, "That? Oh, that is Miss Worther- 
spoon's portrait." 




35 




BENEDICTINE. 

A votre sante, fair madame, 

In Benedictine golden; 
It brings to mind the story told 

Of saints in times so olden. 

How weary, hungry, lonely, worn, 

A monk lay, life near ended. 
A sweet saint passing heard his cry, 

And quick his wants attended. 

"Give me to drink," the old monk moaned. 

The saint reached grape hung vine; 
The sweet juice, forced in amber cup, 

Produced the magic wine. 



The sufferer quick the chalice drained, 

New life his being thrilled; 
The saint departing left the cup, 

With wine 'tis ever filled. 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

And so the Benedictines claim, 
This nectar, Heaven descended, 

'Tis liquid sunshine, perfumed rare, 
All charms in it are blended. 

A votre sante, fair madame, 

In Benedictine golden; 
Its perfume rare, and your sweet saint air, 

Bring back the story olden. 




37 



sxno 



THE BLACK TULIP. 



It was at the time of the "tu- 
lip craze" in Holland. All the 
land was devoting itself to the 
growing of this brilliant flower, 
and each new variety was hailed 
with joy. To have achieved a 
new color was greater than to 
have taken a kingdom. Fortunes 
were squandered, friends became 
enemies, lovers were separated 
and families were estranged in 
the wild competition; a sort of 
flower madness was abroad in 
the land. 

Now there were two young 
gallants, both brave and both 
high spirited, who were dwellers in this 
tulip-mad land, and their estates lay one 
on either side of the estate of the young 
Countess of Barnveldt. The Countess was 
a widow and passing fair. Being sweet 
and lovely as well, she was loved by 
many men, but to none did she 
show much favor save to these two 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

who were her neighbors and right eager 
wooers. The beautiful young Countess was 
as tulip daft as the rest of her compatriots, 
and her gardeners and farmer men led 
anything but an easy life. Now tulips had 
been bred of almost every conceivable 
color and variation save a very dark shade 
of crimson, called by the flower growers 
"black red," and which they still hoped to 
achieve. And it was toward the produc- 
tion of this color that all resources of the 
Barnveldt gardens were turned. The 
Countess dreamed of the subject by night 
and by day, thought and worked toward 
the attainment of this object, which in the 
glow of popular enthusiasm had acquired 
such a fictitious value. 

The two gallant lovers were also flower 
growers of no mean distinction, and many 
a new blossom had they each contributed 
to the collection of the Countess, and bitter 
was the rivalry of effort toward winning 
the gracious thanks that came for such a 
flower. Finally, there came a day when the 
lovers declared that they could no longer 
stand the uncertainty; the Countess must 
choose between them. 

The Countess was annoyed, for she was 
almost sure that she loved them both, but 



39 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

they were firm in their demands and the 
lady was becoming quite perplexed, when 
a happy thought came to her relief and 
she said : "My friends, you know my desire 
to have in my garden the first black tulip 
grown in Holland. You shall have access 
to my grounds at all times, and the one 
of you who first shows me the longed-for 
blossom, him will I marry." 

The lovers were sad, for they had long 
tried to accomplish this very object, but 
they vowed to do their best and went away 
to commence the task. Time went on apace 
and each gallant watched over a plot in the 
gardens of Barnveldt. In their struggle for 
a woman's favor they had grown from 
the dearest of chums to being very bad 
friends indeed, and they scarcely spoke to 
each other as they met in the walks be- 
tween the tulip beds. One day the flowers 
of which they each had the greatest hopes 
burst into bloom, and those upon one side 
of the walk were a fine, dark red, though 
still far from the longed-for color, but 
alack and alack! the flowers grown by the 
other cavalier were all of pure spotless 
white. As this latter was gazing upon the 
flowers with face almost as white as their 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

petals, his rival approached and with a 
harsh laugh taunted him with the hopeless- 
ness of his efforts. Hot words followed, 
swords were drawn and the flower-scented 
air was rilled with the sound of clashing 
steel. It was but a short contest, and pres- 
ently the grower of the white tulips fell in 
the midst of his blossoms, his rival's sword 
run quite through his heart. As he fell, 
his life's blood gushed forth and bathed the 
pallid blooms in its own rich color. 

The Countess, summoned by her fright- 
ened gardeners, when she reached the scene 
found one lover dead, and all about him 
tulips of the most wonderful dusky crim- 
son, the very color she had so longed for. 
The other lover, appalled by the awful 
thing he had done, cursed the spot, de- 
nounced the Countess and disappeared to 
return no more. 

The Countess became very sad, and cared 
not at all for the tulips, but only for the 
lover who was dead, which is the way of 
woman, and until this day in the gardens 
of Barnveldt, is a certain plot within which, 
plant what you will, naught ever grows 
save always a riotous profusion of wonder- 
ful black-red tulips — tulips glowing with 



41 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

the color which cost one lover his life and 
another his happiness, and which cost the 
Countess — what do such things cost a 
pretty woman? 





THE FICKLE ROSE. 

You gave me a rose one night in May 

Sweeter than any other, 
And it said to me, "I love you, dear, 

As I never can love another." 

But alas! ere many a day had gone, 

In some sorry way or other, 
The rose that was mine was telling its love, 

With its petals pink to another. 

Now my rose is gone and its fragrance 
sweet 

Lies deep in the heart of that other. 
I'll have lilies fair and violets rare, 

But of roses never another. 




43 



TERESITA MIA. 



It was long ago in 
my hard working days 
in Florence. I was 
painting away for dear 
life, and it was a hard 
struggle. I had a shab- 
by little studio away up 
in an old palazzo. It 
had one big window 
looking away to the 
north, and a wide win- 
dow ledge where doves 
would perch waiting 
for the few crumbs I 
could spare them. 
Many flights of old, worn stone stairs led 
up to my studio, and often up these stairs 
came Teresita. She was only a hired 
model, a girl of the people, yet endowed 
with a certain patrician grace of beauty that 
caused one's imagination to wander afield 
in pondering her ancestry. 

I had painted her again and again, and 
ever as I painted would she tell me little 
bits of her home life. She was but a child 
of nature, and quite frankly would she 
chatter of the home privations; of the dear 
mother, and of the father, who was kind 







Smoke Rings and Roses 

save when he was in drink, and then only 
was it that he was harsh with the mother, 
and would beat young Beppo, and some- 
times he would even strike Teresita her- 
self. And then she would shake off the 
memory of these sad doings, and, with a 
happy light in her eyes, tell me how it 
would all be so soon changed, for was it 
not just at the Easter-time that she would 
wed with Giuseppe, the handsome, brown 
lad, who came each market day across the 
plain with his donkey load of wares to sell. 
Ah, only to think of it ! she would go quite 
away to the country, to the house of 
Giuseppe's father, for, indeed, it was his 
mother who was dead, and they had much 
need of a woman to care for them. 

As the days went on, my interest grew 
in the simple affairs of this Teresita mia, 
and I often asked, "What of the handsome 
lad, and how prospered the love affair?" 

Thus time passed, until I noticed that 
Teresita did not respond as happily to my 
talk of Giuseppe. And then there came a 
day when the little maid climbed my stairs 
slowly, and the doorway framed a wan 
looking little figure with a tear-stained face, 
and she came in and threw herself all in a 
little heap on the couch and sobbed out her 



45 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

sorrowful tale : "Ah, but Giuseppe was after 
all but a faithless one; had he not given 
Annette a fine blue ribbon? And also he 
had taken her to the fete. Ah, life, was it 
not hard? Would the Signore like Teresita 
to pose to-day ?" "But no," I said, "the 
Signore will only have thee to go home, lit- 
tle one, and try to mend thy grief." And I 
gave her the little fee and she went away. 

Then, for many days she came not at all 
to the studio, until one morning, when she 
looked at me with great, sad eyes, and 
about her was a pitiful little attempt at dig- 
nity as she said: "We will talk of him no 
more; he is to me nothing." I painted her 
that day, and I have the sketch by me now, 
and the atmosphere of hopeless sadness is 
still about it. 

After that I was busy with many things, 
and as the days went by I only found time 
to wonder why the Teresita mia came not 
any more. 

It was the time of the Easter fetes, and 
I was strolling by the Arno, when I came 
upon a group of boatmen gathered about 
something on the bank. I asked of one 
what it might be, and he turned toward 
me a rough face, as he said, with a shrug 
of his shoulders: "Tis but another fool 



46 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

girl, Signore." And then I leaned forward 
and caught a glimpse of the pallid face and 
the tangle of dusky hair, and I could only 
say: "Alas, indeed, little one, life is hard; 
may death prove kinder, poor Teresita mia." 




47 




BIEN CHAUSSEE. 

Sing I shoes of all the ages, 

To charm the gods and win the sages. 

Alas ! To work such havoc, shocking, 
A dainty shoe with glimpse of stocking. 

Fair Hypatia's sandals slender, 
Classic grace to footsteps lend her. 

Bebe's tiny sabots clatter, 
Keeping time with merry chatter, 

Or Louis Quinze of modern flirt, 
Peeping forth 'neath lace frilled skirt. 



Hypatia, Bebe, Gretchen, all, 
Mabel, Prudence, Diane tall. 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

Bien chaussee in fashion's mart, 
No comfort 'tis to heal the smart. 



Sing I shoes of all the ages, 

To charm the gods and win the sages, 

And work the ruin of modern man, 

As naught but shoes and stockings can. 





GOOD NIGHT. 

Good night, my love — 
Nay, nay, not yet, 
The night is young, 
Too young to let 

Go from us with a sad good night. 
Good night, my love, good night, good 
night ! 

Good night, my love — 
Go not I pray, 
Oh, dearest one, 
I'd have you stay 
A little ere we bid good night. 
Good night, my love, good night, good 
night ! 



Smoke Rings and Roses 

Good night, my love — 
Now thou art gone, 
And I in grief, 
All, all alone — 

I cry through space, my love, good night. 
Good night, my love, good night, good 
night ! 




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